Before I Go

"Take my whole life too." --Elvis

I liked what a teacher wrote on Linked In about Flannery O'Connor's output signifying that violence is sometimes necessary to achieve grace. Within my insularity of a life so poorly lived, I think I believe that. Violence is necessary for catharsis, at least conjoined to the possibility that human dignity is a fiction, a concept born out of rapid evolutionary success.

Since I am pushing the envelope, let me push it further: I know that any prospect of taking out a handful of damaged humanoids is yet another spree travesty for crime media, and that if some individuals reading my posts think I am one of the few women around with Columbine warning signs on my head, it is an indicator of powerlessness, hatred of ugly imperfection. The compliments of an acolyte like Louise from an obtuse list serv about about a Victorian era queer were gratifying only until I learned she had osteogensis imperfecta. Once she became just another insulated disabled woman whose success was contingent upon being a federal employee, I then wanted nothing to do with her, and hate what that instance imposed upon me.

I hate what I am, despite having been strong enough to survive, willful enough to fuck more than one ambulatory white male, to laugh at bad sex with addicts and impotent husbands, I do not want to die like an indigent O'Connor character, and my window to put brakes on that train is fast closing. 

I am not ready to break the law, not yet, but if a time comes where I do, then I'm out of the human community, and that is all too amusing given logistical disadvantages, and everything else the dynamics of my past have imposed.